


Can't Blame Me For Secretly Hoping

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Minor Character Death, fake dating trope, sharon carter appreciation month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Natasha tries so hard to set them up, Steve and Sharon decide to get one over on her and prove once and for all that they aren't meant to be together. Naturally, not everything goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Two in the afternoon was an odd time to grab lunch, but Natasha wasn’t normal, and it was hardly difficult for Steve to work up an appetite.

He arrived at the Irish pub six minutes early and grabbed a booth for the two of them. He glanced over the menu. His head was still bent down when the hostess sat someone in the booth behind him and asked if the person would like a drink.

“No, thanks,” the voice answered. Steve froze. He knew that voice. “I’ll wait until my friend gets here.”

He heard her settle down in the booth, and it was easy to imagine the blonde woman dressed in scrubs - no, she’d be wearing street clothes now that her undercover job was finished - and arranging her winter gear and maybe a purse in the booth.

Steve kept his head low. Natasha had told him to call the person sitting in the booth behind him. Several times, in fact. And Steve had meant to. He’d had every intention of calling her.

Eventually.

He’d just been waiting until he could stop thinking of her as Kate and of what a fool he’d been when all he’d been to her was an assignment. And now Natasha had taken it upon herself to set them up. It had to be an ambush; he knew she and Natasha were friends. Or at least, Natasha had told him that she was “nice.” Natasha almost never described anyone as nice. Besides, what were the odds that the woman in the booth behind him would meet another friend here? As far as he knew, she didn’t have any other friends, just some insomniac aunt that probably drove everyone batty with late-night phone calls. If the aunt was even real.

He turned his attention back to the menu. Maybe if he kept his head low, she wouldn’t notice him. He could leave now, he supposed. But as soon as he stood, she’d likely see him, recognize him, and then they might have to talk. Frankly, he wasn’t up to it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be up to it. He’d even reconsider the woman with the tongue ring before he reconsidered the not-nurse from across the hall. 

Natasha was going to get an earful soon, that was for damn sure.

He kept his face down and relied on the ballcap to hide his features. It only lasted until the waitress came to take his order. He lifted the menu to hide his face, but then the waitress plucked the menu out of his fingers, and he was left staring at Sharon, not the waitress, as she stared back at him in surprise.

He fought the urge to duck his head down and instead gave a half-wave and an uncertain grin that he immediately hated himself for. Dr. Erskine could turn him into a super-soldier, but he couldn’t get rid of the scrawny kid from Brooklyn.

She glared at him and gathered her things. Her eyes hardly left him, and he looked back as if afraid that she’d get even angrier if she caught him looking away. He watched as she stormed to the door and frowned when she stopped in the doorway. He mentally urging her onward.

He almost panicked when she turned around and walked back, sliding into the booth across from him. Was it normal to want to be dropped miles behind enemy lines instead of having a conversation with a woman?

“Did Natasha set us up?” she demanded.

He didn’t take his eyes off of her, the same way he wouldn’t take his eyes off a hungry bear. “Seems that way.”

She leaned back, and the more relaxed she seemed, the more nervous Steve got. “Damn it. I told her I’d call you.”

“She told you to call me?”

Sharon glared at him. “She’s been trying to set us up.”

“I know.” Boy, did he know. He hadn’t known that Natasha had been working just as much on Sharon, though. It occurred to him now that he should have seen it coming. The knowledge that Sharon had put off calling him - or flat-out refused to do so - still managed to hurt, despite how he’d done the same thing with her. “She told me to call you, too,” he explained.

Her eyes narrowed on his face, and he was willing to bet she was thinking the same thing he had. Neither of them had called the other, and it bothered each of them to realize that they weren’t worth calling for some reason. 

“There’s only one thing to do,” she said at last.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“We date the hell out of each other until we have such an explosive fight that Natasha never tries anything like this ever again with either of us. She gets her way, we get ours.”

He leaned back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why pretend to date in the first place?” He read her expression and cleared his throat in agreement. “Right. Natasha Romanoff.” There was no way Natasha would ever give up. He leaned forward, thinking it over.

“A couple weeks tops,” Sharon offered. “Just enough to make the fight believable.”

He nodded. Logically, it didn’t make sense to try and trick Natasha. But he suspected it would be worth it for Natasha to stop trying to set the two of them up. And if they did this right, they could be rid of each other for good. He could stick it out a couple weeks if it meant never having to go through this again.

“So we have a deal?” She held out a hand, and he gave it a firm but careful shake.

“Deal.”


	2. Fake Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sharon decide it's time to get that fake date out of the way.

Steve called Sharon two days later, unable to put it off any longer. His first words were quiet and rushed. “She’s watching me like a hawk.” He’d turned away from Natasha, who was all the way on the other side of the field, but he still suspected that she could hear what he was saying. He knew she only pretended to know everything, but he’d also learned that if Natasha wanted to know something, she’d find out.

There was a huff of air, and he couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh. “In a meeting,” she whispered. “I’ll call you back.”

The phone was still pressed to his ear when Natasha stopped at his side.

“Who are you talking to?” Natasha asked.

She knew, Steve thought. She was playing it as if she didn’t, but Steve knew she knew. She had that perfect tone for pretending she didn’t know what was going on, but she knew. They both knew she knew. “Sharon,” he said quickly. “When you didn’t show up for lunch, we got to talking, and- and now we’re dating. And I called her- that was Sharon. That I called. About a date. For us to- to go on.”

Her lips curled. She knew. She knew he was lying. He was a terrible liar, and she knew it.

“I’m gonna go work out some more.”

“Uh-huh.”

He sprinted across the field.

* * *

Sharon called him back over an hour later. “Sorry about that. Work. Meetings. You know how it goes. So she’s on to us? Already?”

He hadn’t stopped running since he’d spoken to Natasha, mostly out of fear that if he slowed down, she’d show up, and he’d be forced to try and lie again. He doubled over, his body drenched in sweat, and panted into the phone. “I’m not a good liar.”

“Really?” Unlike Natasha, Sharon sounded far, _far_ too innocent. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Steve clenched his jaw. “Aren’t you the one who threw her cell phone into a basket of clothes from the infectious disease ward?”

Something exploded in his ear, and it took him a second to realize she had banged the phone against something. “Sorry. What was that?” She sounded like she was going to laugh at him at any second.

He ground his teeth together. “She’s going to know if we’re lying. So let’s get that damn date out of the way.”

She evidently realized the time for joking around was over and grunted. “Yeah. I agree. Sooner we do this, the sooner it’s done. Hamburgers. Seven o’clock?” She rattled off a restaurant and address, and Steve nodded to himself as he committed it to memory.

“What are the odds,” he asked when she was done, “that Nat’s going to be there?”

She went quiet. “She wouldn’t.” She didn’t sound convinced, though.

“But what if she is?”

“She-” Sharon groaned. “Okay, fine. We’ll make it look good. Two, three dates. Then we’re done.”

He looked around for Natasha. He knew to look for more than a flash of red hair, but he didn’t see anything out of place. “You don’t think we should stretch this out longer? Enough to convince her?” It sounded ridiculous even as he said it. There was no way they could convince her they were dating for real. The best they could hope for was convincing her they had tried and that it would never work.

“Aren’t we expending enough energy trying to make it look good?” she demanded.

Steve sighed and rubbed his brow. “Yeah. Sounds good. Three dates. Big, loud split. We don’t have to talk to each other after- Shit.”

“What?” Her tone was alarmed.

“Nothing,” Steve said quickly, already running again. “Just... she found me. Tomorrow night. Seven. I’ll meet you there.”

He hung up before he could hear Sharon laughing at him and sprinted to the far side of the compound.

* * *

He got to his feet as Sharon came in, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She’d put just enough effort into her appearance that Natasha wouldn’t be able to complain; Natasha had never been the sort to insist a woman wear heels when sturdy boots would do, and Sharon had even added a touch of makeup and some earrings.

Steve, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt, slid into the booth once she was settled. “You’re late,” he muttered. If they wanted Natasha to believe they were both excited for the date, shouldn’t she have arrived on time?

“Says the guy who took a seventy-year nap,” she murmured quietly with a plastered-on grin. He glared at her pleasant face. Had she meant for him to hear that? She must have. “So is she here?”

He immediately tried to match her expression in case Natasha was watching. Just a sap who wanted this date to work. Yep. That’s what he was. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t think we’d know unless she wanted us to know.”

Sharon nodded and held up her menu, ordering a beer and the restaurant’s signature burger when the waiter came. Steve ordered the same.

The waiter took away the menus, and they were left staring at each other.

Steve cracked first, setting his napkin in his lap. When he was done, he glanced at her, only to have her drop her own napkin in her lap as if to continue avoiding eye contact. “I told her we got to talking at the restaurant,” he said abruptly.

She nodded. “Which was true. What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing,” Steve said mulishly. He decided not to mention that he’d run like hell instead.

“Okay,” Sharon said slowly. “So... typical date topics are favorite movies, music, tv shows, and books.” She counted them off on her fingers. “But I don’t really know what mine are, so I guess I’ll just ask you.”

Steve frowned. “You don’t have a favorite movie?”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “It isn’t a prerequisite for life that you just take one thing to hold above all the others, Steve.”

“Fine. What are _some_ of your favorite movies?”

She glared at him, seemed to realize it, and forced a smile. “I asked you first.”

He glared back at her for several seconds, then leaned back in his seat. “ _Thin Man_ ,” he said at last.

“ _Thin Man_ ,” she repeated.

“Myrna Loy, William Powell. It was before the War. Still holds up, though. I’ll take that over _Mrs Miniver_ any day.”

“And you paid three cents to see it, and you had to work for hours just to get the pennies, and you went uphill to work both ways and loved every second of it.”

He huffed. Natasha had teased him so much about his age that he wasn’t offended by it anymore, not even from Sharon. “It was a fun movie. And the story and acting are superb. They’ve got it on DVD now.”

Sharon leaned back as the waiter put their beers in front of them. It occurred to Steve that she was imitating his body posture to make him trust her, but after the waiter had left, she leaned forward again. “Favorite band since you got out of the ice.”

“Beatles,” he said immediately.

She made a face at him.

“What?”

“Everyone says the Beatles. That’s the safest answer to give unless you want to be a douche who’s like, ‘Oh no the Beatles are so overrated. This band you’ve never heard of is way better. Oh. You’ve heard of them? Well, then, this _other_ band is even better than _they_ are.'”

That... had sounded rather specific. Steve studied her for a second, then shrugged. “Fine. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

She pressed her lips together. “The Decemberists.”

Steve froze. He’d never even heard of that band. “What if I said I’d heard of them?”

“Then I’d know you were lying, for one thing.” She pointed at him as she took a sip of her beer. “You really are a bad liar, Rogers.” She paused, then her lips quirked very, very faintly. “And then I would say Imagine Dragons.”

He nodded, remembering how Tony had programmed “Radioactive” to play whenever Bruce had entered the Tower. “Their stuff is actually pretty good.”

“You’ve heard them?” She looked at him with a touch more interest. 

“Yeah, sure. I was in the ice for seventy years, not eighty.”

She stared at him, her lips twitching. “Why, Captain Rogers. Did you just make a joke?”

He shifted. “I’ve been known to do that.” He glanced in the mirror behind the bar. For a second, he thought he saw a flash of Natasha’s red hair, but the woman was too gaunt to be Natasha. Phew. “You know, you can call me Steve, if you want. Especially with Natasha...”

“Right.” She shifted uncomfortably. “We should... do that, I guess.” She extended her hand across the table. “Hi, I’m Sharon. I used to be a SHIELD agent. Nice to meet you.”

Steve stared at the hand for a moment before shaking it with his own. “Hi, Sharon. I’m Steve. I’m Captain America. Nice to meet you, too.”

She made a face. Now she _really_ seemed like she was trying not to laugh at him. “Holy crap. No wonder you felt you had to lie about who you were to me. ‘I’m Captain America?'”

He rolled his eyes. “At least it’s not as bad now as when I wore tights and booty shorts.”

She grinned, seemed about to say something, then shook her head. “Okay, okay. Good point. Other things we need to talk about in case Natasha quizzes us... Any favorite teachers growing up?”

* * *

Steve was almost relaxed by the time he let himself into his latest safe house. The fake-date with Sharon had been strangely like an interrogation at times, but the food had been good, and the conversation hadn’t been nearly as bad as he had thought it would be.

“Did she ask you a lot of questions?”

Steve jumped and glared at Natasha, who was sitting peaceably on his couch. “Make yourself at home,” he said dryly.

“Already did. You have too much HGTV recorded to be healthy, you know. So did she ask a lot of questions?”

Steve shrugged and pulled off his jacket. “Yeah, she did. Why?”

Natasha grinned. “Because I checked her phone yesterday and saw she’d been googling questions to ask on the first date. I was just wondering if she’d followed through.”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “She googled questions to ask me?”

Natasha grinned. “Cute, right? You’re both terrible liars and terrible at dating. Not saying you’re made for each other, just saying you need to get back on the horse somehow.”

Get back on the horse? He shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s going to work, Nat.”

Her grin turned thin, maybe even a little dangerous. “I wouldn’t say that just yet, Steve.”

He frowned at her. “You know, you can be kind of scary when you set your mind to it.”

She flashed him a smile. “Oh, Steve. I haven’t needed to set my mind to it in a long, long time.”


	3. Coffee Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon calls Steve about a date this time; things start weird and then get weirder.

Smoke wafted through the rubble in gray, rolling clouds. Steve stepped out of the way of two soldiers carrying a pallet, a sheet stained with splotches of blood and streaks of mud hiding the person underneath. Steve watched, grim-faced, as the men set the pallet down at the end of a row of others before returning to the line of emergency personnel. He felt ridiculous to be standing here dressed in his Captain America uniform, the red, white, and blue still pristine despite the filth he stood in. Around him, people moved in a constant flurry, their vests and hard hats stubbornly shining a vivid orange despite the dirt and mud that seeped into every crevice.

He heard Tony raise his voice, the voice modulator of the Iron Man suit unable to hide his frustration. The team had arrived ready to assist the rescue operation, but the government officials insisted that they didn’t want the Avengers’ help. It was an attitude they were running into more and more. He supposed he couldn’t blame them after what had happened in Sokovia, but it was still discouraging.

Natasha put her hand on Tony’s arm and spoke to the official in a lower tone, and Steve turned away again to take stock of the aid workers’ supplies. The official was right. The rescue effort was well-organized, and the local emergency personnel already had everything in hand. There was nothing they could do here except pitch in. They’d arrived too late to be the flashy heroes Tony seemed to need them to be.

His phone rang, and he glanced at the ID, then at Natasha, before pressing it to his ear. As much as he disliked admitting it, hearing someone’s voice who wasn’t upset would be welcome right now. And there had been times when Sharon was Kate that he’d thought she had a nice voice. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Hey, baby.”

Wait. What?

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see you. It’s been too long.” There was a pause as Steve continued trying to process what the hell was going on, and then Sharon laughed, a light, easy sound that was incongruous with his current surroundings. The voice was too nice, too cheerful for a place where survivors were searching for their loved ones. “I know it’s only been a couple of days.” More like close to a month. Natasha had given them breathing room, and they had both taken advantage. What was she talking- Was she even talking to him? Maybe she didn’t realize he’d picked up yet. But then, he couldn’t hear anyone on the other side, just traffic and birdsong. “What if I pay? That coffee shop around the corner from where we used to do our laundry?”

No, she was using code. Why was she using code? Why did she feel like she had to speak code right now?

“I’m... out of the country.” A gruff shout caught his attention; the official in charge was red-faced and spluttering. Tony must have said something. “Are you in trouble? If it’s an emergency, I can come back. I think we’re almost done here.”

“That’s _way_ too early for me. I try not to drink coffee before I go on my morning jog.”

“Tonight, then?”

“Nine o’clock’s a bit late for me. I have to be at work by then.”

Steve kept an eye on the situation with the official. Natasha’s attempts to mediate seemed to be failing. “Seven?”

“I can do that. Bye, baby.”

That word again. It jarred him. After she hung up, he stared at his phone. He didn’t like being called baby. 

Maybe he’d ask her to call him something else later tonight, once he found out why she had called him that in the first place.

He tucked his phone away and headed over to Tony and Natasha. If he wanted to be back in the States in time to meet Sharon, they had to go. If he didn’t miss his guess, everyone here - the government officials in particular - would be glad to see the quinjet leave.

* * *

The coffee shop around the corner from their old apartment building reminded Steve of a Starbucks that had been cross-pollinated with a diner that had once been a laundromat. The room was large, open except for free-standing walls and columns that gave the illusion of privacy. The floor was mottled with age, chunks of tile missing. The lights were always turned low to hide the fact that some of the bulbs were missing, and the Muzaq wavered in and out over the constant hum of students, federal and city workers, and other assorted DC residents.

He parked his motorcycle close by in case there was trouble and tugged his baseball cap over his eyes before stepping inside. The place was crowded. Teenagers argued in the corner by the window, a homeless man held his coffee close as he sat against the wall. One couple seemed to be on an awkward date; if they made it, at least they’d be able to tell their kids about the football fans at the table next to them who argued loudly about all the calls the refs had missed.

He wandered around, finally spotting her at a table tucked in the corner. A newsboy cap sat low over her eyes; a scarf completed the incognito look. He couldn’t suppress his grin as he sat across from her. “You know, even I’m better at disguises than you are. And from what I hear, I’m horrible at disguises.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not _in_ disguise, Mr. Rogers. I’m just little old me. Out on a date with my boyfriend that I haven’t seen in far too long.”

“Anybody I’ve met?”

She looked at him in exasperation. Had he just seen a hint of a smile, though? He thought he had. And then her eyes flicked over his shoulder around the coffee shop, and the moment was gone. 

He shrugged. Had he sounded like he’d been teasing her? He hadn’t meant to. “Speaking of, though, I didn’t know we were calling each other ‘baby.'”

Her features settled into an expression that looked oddly like she was challenging him. “We aren’t. I’m calling _you_ ‘baby.'” 

“I’m not calling you that?”

“No.”

“Why am I not calling you that?”

“Because I was a professional throughout our acquaintance, and you nearly pitched a fit outside Pierce’s office. _Neighbor._ ”

He didn’t respond to that. He pursed his lips and looked out the window. Her words brought back how SHIELD had spied on him - how _she_ had spied on him - with perfect clarity.

Her face slowly fell as she realized what he must be thinking. “Sorry. I didn’t- You _were_ childish, though.”

In the month since they’d last seen one another, he’d somehow forgotten that she always had to be right. Always had to have the last word. Fine. If he needed to take this punch so they could move on and get to the point of this meeting, he would. “Yeah,” he agreed soberly, leaning on his elbows. “I guess I was.”

She hesitated, then squirmed in her seat. She looked directly at him, but the cautious, almost unnoticeable way her eyes flicked from side to side suggested she was still checking to make sure they weren’t drawing attention. He knew she was with the CIA now; what he didn’t know yet was why she was so worried about anyone noticing them.

At length, she leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. If he hadn’t known better, he would say it was an apology of sorts. He paused, then turned his hand over to pretend to hold her hand back. It wasn’t that he was accepting any supposed apology; he didn’t want to put her at risk if she was worried about someone watching them.

“I’d try to invite you back to my place, but I don’t think we’re there yet,” she said, that teasing tone back in her voice.

“No. We’re not.” He glanced at her quickly. Or was he supposed to go home with her?

Instead, she just nodded and got to her feet, a faint squeeze on his hand indicating that he should do the same. Once they were standing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and then her breath was hot in his ear.

“I got you something. Under the table. I’ll- I’ll see you.” 

He felt something warm and soft against his cheek, but he didn’t realize she had kissed him until she was already gone. He frowned after her. Hadn’t that been taking things a little too far?

He hadn’t expected her lips to be that soft.

* * *

He didn’t open the gift-wrapped box when she left. He’d learned enough about subterfuge that he carried it nonchalantly to his bike, then stopped a couple blocks away before examining it in an alleyway. Why had she wrapped it with blue and silver paper? Was it some sort of message? Why had she feigned that this was some sort of gift to him? And what the hell was it?

He still didn’t understand women.

Carefully, he unwrapped the package. There was no writing on the back of the paper; he folded it carefully and set it aside. The box was a simple T-shirt box, inconspicuous and cheap. He prised it open with careful fingers and frowned at the pressed shirt inside. It looked... distressingly like something he’d worn soon after he’d come out of the ice.

He glanced at his phone. Why had she insisted he come back to the States for _this?_ Would she have explained if he’d gone back to her place?

He held up the shirt. It was certainly his size. But of course she would know his size. There was no real way to tell how much she knew about him, really. Certainly more than he knew about her.

There was a manila folder at the bottom of the box.

He opened it cautiously, then gaped. A grainy photo of the Winter Soldier, only it didn’t look like the Winter Soldier anymore. He looked like Bucky, only a little older and with a crease in his brow that hadn’t been there before Zola, wearing a leather jacket with a glove over his metal hand. The hair was longer than when they’d served in the Army, but it still looked like Bucky.

He went through the folder as quickly as he could. The information inside was scant. She had the time the photo had been taken and the location. A note, lightly written in pencil, warned him that the CIA was closing in and to be careful. He made a note to burn the paper later so it couldn’t be used to incriminate her.

He sprang to his feet, already whipping out his phone to ask Tony to borrow the plane. He called Sam on the way. At least now, Sharon’s strange behavior made sense. She’d stolen intel from the CIA to give Steve a chance at reaching Bucky first and hadn’t wanted the CIA to suspect she’d betrayed them.

He texted her from over the Atlantic. “Enjoyed coffee. We should do it again when you get the chance.”


	4. New Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon gets a new mission and a phone call.

_"Take a seat.”_

_Sharon sank into the chair in front of Fury’s desk. She had a bad feeling about this meeting. She knew the power that went with her last name, and she also knew Fury understood how hard she had worked to get by in SHIELD without using that power. She’d avoided using her last name as much as possible, using Thirteen or Sharon whenever she could. She wanted to prove herself, to succeed based on her own merits._

_But she knew, just as the rest of the world now did, that Steve Rogers had been found, that he had fought to save them all during the Battle of New York. As soon as she’d heard he was back, she knew she wouldn’t be able to escape her last name for long._

_“You know why I called you here.”_

_She gave him a blank look, still hoping she was wrong. “I would never presume, sir.”_

_“Bullshit.” He sat heavily in his seat and set his elbows on the desk. “You know Steve Rogers is back.”_

_She recognized his tone. It wasn’t the tone of the Director of SHIELD, it was that of Nick Fury, the man burdened by the weight of a million secrets. It was the tone she’d heard at the dinner table before. She allowed herself to relax a little. “I’d be a piss-poor SHIELD agent if I didn’t.”_

_She was rewarded with a shrug of acknowledgement. “I know you’ve been trying to get by on your own merits.”_

_“I know I’m not going to like what you say next.”_

_He raises his hands, more in exasperation than surrender. “I like the guy. I do. I like the star-spangled pain in my ass. But he’s a _stubborn_ star-spangled pain in my ass. He’s turned down a protective detail. He doesn’t understand that the world’s changed in the past seventy years.”_

_Sharon remained silent and waited for him to continue._

_“He spotted the SHIELD agents I had tailing him. Came and yelled at me. He’s older than my granddad, looks like he could be my damn grandson, and he came in and yelled at me.”_

_Sharon smirked. Aside from her aunt, she doubted Fury was accustomed to that treatment._

_“He doesn’t understand that people can find anything online these days, even where Captain America is staying. And he doesn’t understand that everybody has a gun these days, that any number of people with issues - valid or made-up - can get their hands on assault rifles. And even Cap can’t come back from everything” He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. “That’s why we’re going to get sneaky. The damn fool needs protection, whether he admits it or not. And who better to lead his protective detail than you?”_

_Part of her brain realized that she was still a young agent, that some still considered her a rookie, that this one mission could bump her up several levels. At least level 4._

_That wasn’t the part of her mind she gave voice to, though. The part that won out was the one that said aloud, “Fuck you, Nick."_

* * *

Sharon had never meant to like Steve Rogers. She’d certainly never wanted to have feelings for him. Pity was easy enough - his loneliness, how lost he was, how few friends he had, how he never seemed to leave his apartment except for missions and brief explorations of the city that seemed to depress him - they all made pity easy. But liking him was something else.

She had protected him because it was the right thing to do. Ended up dating him because it was the useful thing to do.

And she had given him information about the Winter Soldier because she was a stupid idiot. 

Hancock stood over her desk. She let him wait, seemingly focused on her data entry. SHIELD agents, no matter their last name, were not trusted at the CIA. She’d meant to prove them wrong about that, but... well. She’d proved them right, hadn’t she. Trustworthy agents didn’t leak intel, even if they leaked intel to Captain America. _Especially_ if they leaked into to Captain America.

Hancock cleared his throat. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she looked up at him in surprise.

“Sir. How may I help you?” How much evidence did they have that she’d fed an Avenger classified intel?

Stupid, Sharon. Stupid.

“With me.” He turned and walked away, leaving Sharon to follow in his wake. She couldn’t stop herself from reviewing self-defense moves, measuring herself against the CIA agents they passed. Most of them wouldn’t pose a problem. The CIA was about negotiation and infiltration, and the Internet had forced them to reconsider how they infiltrated organizations. When even terrorists had Facebook pages, anyone without a Facebook page or with a brand-new one was suspicious. The CIA worked in the shadows, lived in them and died in them. They didn’t put the emphasis on fighting that SHIELD had.

SHIELD had always trained their agents to assume their cover would be blown at any moment and had taught them to survive as much as mission parameters would allow. Sharon had made a point of continuing to train with other former SHIELD agents after SHIELD fell. She didn’t want to get soft at the CIA. She didn’t want to die if she could help it. Not before she made things right.

Hancock led the way into a conference room. Two agents closed the door behind Sharon, and she stood, looking uncertain for a moment, before taking a seat at the table across from Hancock and two other senior agents, Baker and Maddox. A lie detector test sat at the end of the table.

“You were one of SHIELD’s fastest-climbing agents, weren’t you?”

Her eyes flicked to Baker. “Yes.”

“How did you manage that, if I may ask?”

“You may.” Sharon glanced at the others to see if they were as amused as she was that she’d just given her interrogator permission to ask a question during an interrogation. Neither of them twitched. Natasha would have gotten it.

“Then how?” Baker pressed, impatient.

“I had computer skills and management skills that Director Fury thought would be useful for Project Insight.”

“Project Insight, which nearly killed countless numbers of people,” Hancock said gruffly.

“Yes.”

“So you admit that you worked on Project Insight,” he continued.

“Yes.”

“And you say you were unaware of Hydra’s existence in the modern age?”

Sharon pressed her lips together. “If I’d known they were still around, I’d have shot them.” Her voice was flat. “If I’d had any reason to suspect they were back, I would have hunted them down and put a bullet between their eyes.”

He smirked at her. “You seem quite sure of that, agent.”

She stared at him and tried not to let herself glare at him. He had no reason to doubt her hatred of Hydra. None of them did.

Unless they were Hydra and wanted to get rid of her.

Baker pulled out a sheet. She recognized the time sheet format. “You left early last Friday.”

She did a double-take. “ _That’s_ why you pulled me out of work? Because I left a couple minutes early last week?”

“Perhaps if SHIELD had been more thorough,” Hancock suggested.

She couldn’t hide her glare any longer. “Yeah. That’s why. Time sheets. It had nothing to do with political philosophies. It was how many hours they clocked in. Why didn’t we realize that?” She turned to Baker. “I had a date.”

* * *

_Nick raised his hands. It was a gesture of surrender, but it never seemed as such when he did it. “It would come with a promotion.”_

_“I don’t give a fucking_ damn _about the promotion,” she snapped. “You don’t need me for this shit.”_

_“I’ve seen two agents piss themselves today at the prospect of meeting Captain America.”_

_“They can work in their sweats for the rest of the day, and we can all mock them accordingly.”_

_Fury huffed in frustration. “Sharon. You’re the only person I can trust to do this.”_

* * *

For several seconds, no one spoke.

“You left early to go on a date.” Maddox spoke for the first time. He sounded surprised, and she wondered whether he’d been startled by the thought of her dating or the sound of his own voice after the long stretch of silence.

Sharon shrugged. “I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I’d done all my data entry for the day.”

All three of them sat back and stared at her, yet she got the impression they checked in with each other nonetheless. 

“You want something more challenging than data entry,” Maddox said slowly.

For the first time since SHIELD fell, she felt something like a thrill. “I’m being wasted where I am.”

Hancock snorted. “Over-confidence is unbecoming in an agent.”

That sounded all too familiar. _Confidence in unbecoming in a woman._

She looked at him with disdain. “It’s the truth. I’m capable of far, far more.”

Maddox gave a firm nod. “You’ll get more, then.”

Sharon waited. None of them spoke. Was that it? Was the lie detector there for decoration?

No. The lie detector was there to see if she would crack. The intimidation was to see if she’d crack.

Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD for decades and had never cracked, and they expected her to crack with these low-level tactics.

She got to her feet. “If that’s all.”

Maddox seemed to be the one in charge now. He gave her a nod, and Sharon went back to her cubicle, ignoring the agents who had tried to intimidate her earlier.

* * *

_"Why can’t I just talk to him?” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound desperate, but it slipped in. “He’s going to find out, Nick. The upfront and honest approach... He might not like it at first, but it’ll pay off in the end.”_

_“It hasn’t yet, and we’ve already apprehended three people for stalking him. One had a pipe bomb on him. He might listen, but it’ll take time we don’t have. He’s stubborn.” He exhaled slowly; Nick didn’t sigh in resignation when on duty. “Sharon. I know you don’t want this. But.”_

_Shit._

_“I’ll approve your transfer. I’ll pay your rent. You’ll be living in town anyway. No big missions to distract you from personal things you need to do. And I’ll give you something to sink your teeth into while you’re at it to justify you staying in DC to any SHIELD agent who asks. The protective detail stays off the books except for you, me, and the other agents on the detail. We keep the circle small.”_

_Her brows came together. She knew he already understood why she’d requested the transfer to DC. Still, the thought that he might use that to get her to do what he wanted didn’t sit right with her. “You’re asking me to go undercover within SHIELD.”_

_He shrugged. “I don’t want everybody knowing where he lives. Circle’s too wide, we spring a leak more easily. We keep a record of it online, it can be hacked into. And people_ are _going to try to find him. We both know that.”_

_Sharon didn’t say anything._

_Nick pulled a file from his desk and slid it across to her._

_Her fingers touched it lightly, as if it might poison her through touch alone. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened it._

* * *

The file hit her desk at four-fifty-five that afternoon. She opened it with hungry hands, her heart hammering as she read through the file. Egypt. A possible terrorist with a curious power source. It would require talking to multiple terrorists, going dark for weeks, if not months, on end.

It was a suicide mission.

Sharon committed the file to memory, staying late as she read the details and cross-referenced files in the CIA database. She had nothing to go home to, and she didn’t want to go in unprepared.

It wouldn’t be her first suicide mission. It wasn’t going to be her last, either.

* * *

_“Nurse.”_

_Nick nodded solemnly._

_Of course. Rogers’ mother had been a nurse. He’d be more likely to think well of medical personnel. More likely to trust them. Her eyes scanned the rest of the file._

_“We tell him the truth when we think he can handle it.” Her voice was firm._

_Nick didn’t move. She hadn’t expected him to._

_“I need to talk to SHIELD medical. Get some gory stories.”_

_“You’re overdue to get your first aid refresher anyway,” he said. “I’ll tell them to put you through the wringer. Who knows.” For the first time since she’d sat, he smiled. “I’m gonna have to visit him from time to time. You might end up saving my life."_

* * *

She lived in the same apartment on Dupont. The paint was white. The hardwood floors glistened. The fridge was full of take-out boxes. She had never needed to live in a conventional, two-story home, had studiously avoided thoughts of a white picket fence and a yard for kids, and the apartment was one where she could pack up everything she cared about in five minutes and then disappear for good. Parking was a pain in the ass, but the apartment was as close to hers as anything ever would be.

It was already paid for, after all, and Sharon would have had difficulty paying for a place near Langley on a former-SHIELD-agent-now-CIA salary.

Tonight, the apartment seemed different. It wasn’t just the thought of a mission distracting her from her TIVO, but it took her several minutes to realize she had a message on her cell phone. Langley didn’t allow personal cell phones inside the building - hell, she couldn’t even take in lip balm. She had to buy everything from the CIA shop. At ridiculous prices, she would add. And on the few occasions when she made phone calls during work hours, she had to do it outside the building. Which, given how likely the parking lot was being closely monitored, had made those calls to and from Steve especially fun. They were lucky she’d been sent to a meeting off-site when he’d first called. She’d finally gotten into the habit of leaving her cell on her bedside table to avoid being compromised. No one ever called anymore anyway.

Tonight, there was a voice message.

Frowning, she hit play and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Sharon. Hey.” She kept the smile off her face. Steve still sounded as awkward speaking to her as when they were neighbors. She could imagine him fidgeting, as unsure in his body as he must have been when he stepped out of Erskine’s machine. The dork. “I thought I should see you. I mean, that we could go out. There’s a- Tony’s throwing some sort of party. Natasha- Well. It’s Friday. I know it’s short notice. That’s how Tony is sometimes. Let me know if you can make it. I’ll give you details. Deets.” There was a pause, like he had tried experimenting with modern-day lingo and then had heard it out loud. “Details.”

She grinned and checked the time before calling him back.

* * *

_“We should have told him, you stupid bastard. What did I fucking tell you?” She pressed her shirt against Nick’s wound, blood seeping through her fingers and the ghost of Steve’s expression of betrayal in her mind._

_He grunted; she doubted it was in agreement._

_She pulled the shirt away and studied the bullethole. “You’ll need surgery. It’ll sting like a bitch, but you’ll pull through.”_

_His eyes were vacant. She pressed her shirt against his chest until pain recalled him to himself. “Look after him,” he breathed._

_“Fuck you, Nick. Watch after him yourself, you old bastard.”_

_He smiled, but the sound that came out of his mouth was filled with pain. “Language.”_

_He was still alive when SHIELD personnel took him away, with her calling over their shoulder any information she thought they might need. She heard later that he hadn’t pulled through. She crumpled to the floor, crying while she had the time. She only had two hours before she had to be back at work, reporting to Pierce about her clandestine protective detail, and then she’d have a full day at Project Insight, pretending nothing was wrong. This might be her last chance to mourn him._


	5. First Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sharon go on their first fake date around the Avengers.

Steve had offered to pick her up, but DC was three hours away from New York. Sharon suspected the offer was more out of politeness than inclination. She had told him to meet her at the Tower instead and left as soon as she got off work. When she finally arrived five hours later, it looked like the party was in full swing. It took her almost twenty minutes just to get through the line and drop her car off at the valet. She tossed her keys to them as if her beat-up Toyota were one of Stark’s porsches and headed up the stairs.

She slung her overnight bag over her shoulder and walked confidently through the lobby, trying not to let anyone see how out of place she felt. She wasn’t sure if the others in the lobby were late to the party or had filtered out for some reason, but she knew her CIA office ensemble didn’t fit in with the short, tight dresses and the flashy jewelry the other women wore. She tried to focus instead on texting Steve with her location. She wasn’t surprised when he met her at the elevator. 

She stepped in beside him without looking behind her. “Sorry I’m late. I forgot to factor in Friday traffic.” She resituated her bag and blew some hair out of her face. “Is there a place I can change?” She tried to grin and hoped her grin didn’t look as tired and frumpy as she felt. “If I have to speed-change in the elevator, I’ll manage. But you’ll have to turn around.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “FRIDAY. My floor.”

A female voice emanated from the speakers. “Right away, sir.” The elevator sped upwards, and Sharon tried not to react to how Steve had said they were going to his floor. The talking elevator she could handle - even if she hadn’t heard of Stark’s AI projects, she wouldn’t expect anything less than Tony Stark having the most advanced tech available. Being allowed on Steve’s floor was... unexpected.

And belatedly noticing that the elevator walls were mirrored, thus making the mention of him turning around pointless, didn’t help her fraying nerves. Jesus. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first dance in middle school. 

Not that she was nervous. She was just not... _not_ nervous.

The doors opened to reveal a comfortable waiting area, and Steve strode out and down a wide hall. It looked like a hallway found in a home, she thought, done in the same colors that had been in Steve’s apartment. It wasn’t the office-like atmosphere she’d expected, but it also wasn’t exactly comfortable. It looked like a cross between a dormitory hallway and a hotel.

“You live on this floor alone?”

He shrugged. “Not always. Sam has a room for when he stays here.” He looked around, his expression wry. “But I noticed the same thing.” He stopped in front of a door. Another word to FRIDAY, and it sprang open. The rooms inside were larger than his old apartment, but the color scheme was still the same. Greens and tans and dim lights. She knew it was supposed to make him feel more at home, and maybe the colors were a reference to his time in the army, but it made her think of a tomb for mold. 

“Bathroom’s through there.” He pointed down the hall, then shifted his weight. “Don’t put bugs in while you’re here. FRIDAY wouldn’t allow it.”

She frowned at him, wondering how many times she’d have to explain that she’d been trying to protect him, wondering if she’d have to apologize for doing her damn job _again,_ then realized he was joking. She frowned. “Ha, ha.” She went to the bathroom, eyes roving around the apartment automatically. Old-fashioned glasses in the kitchen, dreary newspaper on the table. The whole place was depressing. At least the bathroom had adequate light for her purposes, even if the sink looked like it had been repurposed from an antiques shop.

Ten minutes later, she stepped out again, her hair pulled up in a French twist, and a touch of makeup on her face. She’d never been good enough at makeup to put much more than a touch on; it always looked weird on her and made her feel uncomfortable. The dark blue dress went to her toes, even with her heels, and was loose enough that she’d been able to hide away a couple weapons. Healthy paranoia kept people alive, she reasoned.

He looked up from his records when she entered the living room; she was gratified to see his eyes widen and his mouth hang open for a second. She gave a modest shrug. They were going to break up soon after this. His thoughts about her dress didn’t mean anything, nor could they. Neither of them had ever really wanted to date the other. It was for the best.

“Did you tell Tony to make this place depressing, or did he not like you when he built the Tower?”

“What?” He cleared his throat. “No. I- I changed most of it myself. It was too modern when he did it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You need light in here, Steve. And... I don’t know. Pictures?”

“I have pictures.”

She pressed her lips together. He was defensive. She hadn’t meant to make him feel defensive. But she also couldn’t let it go; it wasn’t in her nature. “Of something other than the American flag or the Brooklyn skyline from decades ago.” She inhaled through her nose and shook her head. “Sorry,” she muttered. Damn it. Why couldn’t she let things go? “Should we go to the party?”

After a moment, he held out his arm to her, then caught himself and ran a hand through his hair instead. He waved toward the door, and she stepped into the hall.

In the elevator, she asked, “Do you think Natasha is going to make us dance?”

“I don’t really dance.”

She bit her tongue before she could say that she knew that already. “I’ll go easy on you, Rogers.”

He looked at her sharply. 

“I’m only asking because if we’re dancing even though neither of us wants to, but thinks the other wants to, she might finally believe us. And then we can break up.”

He exhaled. “Yeah. That... that sounds good. Two dances?”

It was her turn to look at him sharply. “You think it’ll take two?”

He shrugged. “Probably best. To be safe. Make sure she sees. Slow dances.” He looked faintly embarrassed. “I don’t know any of the faster ones.”

She smirked. “Slow is fine. I failed the dance class at SHIELD.”

He glanced at her. “You’re joking.”

“That SHIELD has a dance class, or that I failed it?”

“Both?”

The elevator doors slid open at last, and the two looked at each other. They might not like each other, Sharon reasoned, or at least he didn’t like her, but they were still in this together. When they had each steeled themselves, they stepped into the throng. Something warm enveloped her hand, and she looked at Steve in surprise that she quickly hid. He... was holding her hand. And it wasn’t unpleasant. Not that she would tell him so.

“Natasha’s already here,” he murmured. “We’re supposed to sell it, right?”

“Right.” She looked around, spotting several of the Avengers among the sea of people that she didn’t recognize. “Want to get that first dance out of the way?”

* * *

Steve looked hesitant, and she smirked and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Come on. We do it now, it means we have one less to do after.”

“There’s a weird sort of logic to that, I guess.” He glanced toward Natasha to make sure she could see them and then held his hands out to Sharon, already feeling awkward. The serum had probably made him a better dancer, but it hadn’t done anything to help his nerves when it came to women.

She grinned and set his hands on her hips, resting her own hands lightly on the back of his neck. “Nobody knows the foxtrot anymore, Steve.”

“I didn’t know the foxtrot back in my day, either,” he muttered. He wished he could wipe his hands on his shirt. It was only Sharon, and he didn’t even like her, but this was also the first dance he’d had with a girl in... Oh. His first dance with a woman, ever, and they were both faking it. He swallowed thickly and watched the other dancers.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

She didn’t seem to believe him, and after a moment, she moved back and took his hand. He looked down at it in surprise before realizing she was only continuing the ruse from earlier. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” She smirked. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you were feeling faint.”

“No one’s going to believe- Oh.” Joking. She was joking with him. “Funny.”

He followed her outside, and they looked over the railing at the city. He glanced from it to her and back again before taking a step closer. “She’s probably watching,” he muttered.

“She’s a great friend,” Sharon said in a tone of agreement. “But...”

He nodded. He understood completely.

“You’d think a former KGB agent, former SHIELD agent, and current Avenger would have more hobbies. Do more scrapbooking or something.”

Steve frowned at her. “I can’t even imagine her scrapbooking.”

Sharon grinned. “She’s actually really good at it. She has an eye for aesthetic. She made me a book when I graduated from the Academy. I think she was trying to be an ass, but it was really good.” Before he could ask how they’d known each other when she’d been in the Academy, she glanced around to make sure they wouldn’t be overhead and spoke again. Her voice was soft despite how few people were close by. “Did the intel help?”

He shrugged. “Yes and no. He’d definitely been there, and the trail was warm for a while, but.” He looked out over the city. “He’s good at what he does.” Too good.

She hesitated, then leaned against the railing beside him. “You’ll find him. Or he’ll find you. You two are family; he won’t be able to stay away forever.”

He ducked his head and hoped she was right. He wanted Bucky back. He drew a breath and grinned. “The shirt came in handy, too. Thanks for that.”

She rolled away, but her grin was back.

Pleased with himself, Steve turned to find Natasha in the crowd, only to feel a chill as he found the redhead staring right back at him. It wasn’t her friendly face, either. It was too calculating. He quickly turned away. “Yeah, she’s watching.”

She sighed and turned so Natasha couldn’t read her lips. “Guess we can’t make the rounds, then.”

He leaned against the railing. “You know people here?”

“Hell, no. I wasn’t even going to try to talk to them. My plan was to go get a drink while you made the rounds. I may not hold my liquor as well as you do, but I can try.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Try and fail. The only thing that comes close to working is Asgardian mead.” A thought occurred to him, and he straightened. “Do _not_ try it. I don’t know if Thor brought any, but it could seriously kill people who aren’t Asgardian or don’t have the serum. Most people get plastered after less than a cup.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I smell a challenge.”

“What kind of challenge?” They turned to see Sam approaching. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the two of them and gave Steve a curious look. “Or I can come back later.”

Steve cleared his throat and stepped away from Sharon, uncomfortable with the implication that they’d been caught being intimate. That they’d been being intimate, period. Ever.

Sharon stepped forward and offered her head. “Hi. I’m Sharon.”

“Sam,” he said, his eyebrows going up as he gave Steve an incredulous look. He tried to be sly about it, but he didn’t turn his face completely away from Sharon. So Sam remembered what Steve had told him about the nurse across the hall. “So you know Tony?”

Sharon smirked. Oh, crap. She knew Sam recognized her name. Which meant she knew Steve had told Sam about her. Crap. “No. I’m here on a date with Steve. You?”

“Same.” Sam winked, and she laughed. Steve’s cheeks started to burn. What the hell had he done to deserve this? “You know, you can’t say you’re on a date if you don’t have a drink. Did he forget to offer you one?” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “He always forgets with me, too. I figure us dates should watch out for each other.”

Steve could have smacked himself in the face. Damn it. That must have been why Natasha had stared daggers at him.

“I’m fine,” Sharon said, still smiling. “And I would imagine being able to fly makes up for his forgetting to get you drinks- at least to an extent. What’s it like, by the way? Flying?”

Steve didn’t buy that she was fine. She’d driven all the way from Virginia and had gone straight to getting ready before coming here. She was probably parched. “I’ll get drinks. Sam? Want anything?”

He only glanced at Steve, most of his attention on Sharon. “I’m good.” Sam tucked his hands in his pockets, and as Steve walked away, he heard Sam ask, “So. Sharon. What are your intentions toward my boy?”

Oh, God.

* * *

“Sorry about that,” Sam said once Steve was lost in the crowd. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to mess with him.”

Sharon’s eyes danced. “You do that a lot, Sam?”

He shrugged. “Try to get him back for every time he outlaps me.” He flashed her an easy grin. “Haven’t caught up yet, though.”

She grinned. “I’m happy to help any way I can.” She rolled her eyes and adopted a stern expression. “‘Don’t try Asgardian mead. Your mortal, serum-less system is too weak!'”

“‘You actually went faster that time! I only managed to pass you thirty-five times in ten minutes instead of thirty-six!'” Sam joined in.

Sharon chuckled and then became solemn. “‘You should wear tighter shirts. It cuts down on wind resistance. Sure it cuts off circulation, but- Oh, I forgot. You didn’t get the serum.'”

Sam shook his head. “He’s not easy to carry around all the time, either. Man can eat a herd of horses and still be hungry.”

Sharon leaned against the railing. “Yeah. Good guy, though.” Her tone was fond.

Sam nodded and leaned against the railing next to her, and together they watched Steve make his way through the crowd. “Yeah, good guy.”

“That’s the worst part.”

* * *

Natasha approached him while he was juggling multiple plates and three glasses - he didn’t think Sam would want to be left out, no matter what he said. “All that for you, Rogers?”

“Uh, no. I’ve got- I’ve got friends here.” He felt his cheeks warm up again.

“Which friends?”

“Sharon and Sam,” he mumbled.

“Sharon’s here? I didn’t know Tony invited her!”

Jesus. She was relentless. “On a date,” he muttered.

Natasha leaned in, her face completely innocent. “What was that?”

“On a date,” he mumbled again.

“Sorry. Couldn’t quite hear-”

“ON A DATE!” Steve snapped. His ears turned red as everyone nearby turned to stare at him. 

“Ohhhhh.” Natasha straightened with a smirk. “Well. Don’t let me stop you.”

Steve glared at her as she melted seamlessly back into the crowd. Realizing that people were still staring at him, he ducked his head and hurried back to the balcony. He passed along the drinks and plates, keeping the fullest plate for himself.

“Thank you.” Sharon sounded genuinely surprised, and Steve wished he’d thought to get her food and drink earlier.

“Yeah, man. Thanks.” Sam pointed to Sam. “You know she’s after your virginity, right?”

Steve nearly choked on a pig in a blanket. 

“And your money,” Sharon corrected him with a wry grin. “Can’t say no to that social security check.”

Steve groaned. “You two need to go to separate corners and never speak to each other again.”

They only laughed and kept ribbing him. 

On the bright side, they were so busy talking that he and Sharon didn’t dance a second time.


	6. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sharon and what they did (or didn't do) after the party...

Steve frowned as he noticed how gingerly Sharon walked on the way to the elevator. He kicked himself for not noticing earlier, and for staying at the party so long. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d enjoyed talking to Sam, and Rhodey had come out to tell Sharon stories about himself that she hadn’t heard before. Steve had even enjoyed the way Rhodey had glared at him and Sam as they had mouthed the punchlines of his stories with him. More people had trickled onto the balcony throughout the evening, and it occurred to Steve that they weren’t doing it because of him so much as the woman he was with. They were curious about his - for lack of a better word - date. If he hadn’t been enjoying himself so much, he might have left right then and there, but Sharon was holding her own, just as she did at the small gathering after the party, where all the Avengers sat around and talked after everyone else had left. 

She hadn’t complained throughout the ordeal, not even when Tony had asked for her background information to make sure she was a suitable prospect for Cap, including her geneaology and social security number. Natasha, friend that she was, had kicked him in the leg. 

She didn’t complain now, either.

He swallowed. “Do you, I don’t know. Want me to carry you?” As if that wouldn’t be awkward.

She wrinkled her nose and said, “I’m good for another twenty feet.” She glared at the elevator, and Steve recognized the stubborn expression. She was going to make it to the elevator on her own if it killed her.

He kind of liked it.

Once they were alone in the elevator, he offered her his arm, and she looked at him in surprise. After a moment, she set her fingers on it gingerly and bent to take off her heels.

She stood upright with a groan. She let go of him as soon as she was able. “I had no idea you Avengers were such party animals.”

He half-grinned at her and, now that she was no longer using his arm, shoved his hands in his pockets. “We just sat and talked. Not a big deal.”

“And drank for _hours._ I’m impressed.” She eyed him in the mirrored doors. “Rhodey told me about you and Thor’s mead when you weren’t around, by the way. I’m im _pressed,_ Rogers.”

He ducked his head. “Yeah, well, not much gets me drunk anymore.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the super soldier serum really ruined your life.” She must have seen his grin disappear, because her expression softened. “It didn’t ruin your life, Steve. It gave you an opportunity for a new one.”

He was quiet for several seconds. At length, the doors opened, and he led the way out of the elevator. He slowed to keep steady beside Sharon as she walked carefully. “I could carry you,” he offered again. “No one’s going to see.”

“I’d still know,” she insisted. “So no, I’m going to pass. Thanks, though.” Maybe it was stubbornness, he thought. Maybe it was pride.

He nodded and spoke to FRIDAY as they neared the door. It slid open, and Steve waited patiently for Sharon to move inside.

She tossed her shoes aside and tilted over the arm of the couch until she fell face-first into the cushions. She groaned into the fabric. “I’m going to need a couple minutes before I go. And I need to change.” She groaned again, and he thought she must have realized she’d have to walk again.

He half-grinned and glanced down the hallway toward the bathroom where her clothes were. He’d been beaten badly enough before that he knew the long walk there was going to feel even longer in her current condition. “It’s late enough that you should probably spend the night,” he suggested. “My bed’s got clean sheets.”

She turned to look at him, and he felt his face burn. That hadn’t come out right, had it?

“I mean. You’re tired, and you probably shouldn’t drive home yet. You can sleep here. In the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Her eyes narrowed, her toes curling. He pretended not to notice. What did he care that her toes curled? “Don’t be an idiot. It’s your bed.”

“You’re the guest,” he argued.

“I’m already on the couch.”

Steve tossed himself on the other side of the couch and spread out. “Now I’m on the couch. And it’s where I’m going to be for the foreseeable future.” He patted the back of the couch and looked at her. “Because this is where I’m sleeping. Because you, as the guest, shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Neither should you.” She pulled her lower half onto the couch and curled up in the corner.

Steve set his feet on the coffee table. “I’m not sleeping in that bed tonight. _Some_ body should use it.”

She stared at him, then slowly nodded. Before he could celebrate, she said, “Fine. Then we’ll just have a stubborn-off.”

He blinked at her. “A stubborn-off,” he repeated. He gave a slow nod of his own. “Okay. A stubborn-off. Let’s do it.” There was no way she could be more stubborn than he was.

She nodded faster. “And let’s do it with the TV on. What’s on this time of night other than infomercials?”

“TCM.” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television.

“You watch TCM?”

He shrugged. “Of course I do. It’s good programming.” The fountain scene from _Roman Holiday_ flickered to life, and Steve set the remote on the table again. Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. Good movie.

Sharon resituated herself on the couch to make herself more comfortable. “This is a pretty good movie,” she said sleepily, and he turned his head toward her in surprise.

“Yeah, it is. You’ve seen it?”

She grinned. “Once or twice.” She watched the screen, and Steve turned his attention to it, too. 

When he next looked at Sharon, she was asleep. He watched her for several seconds before covering her with a blanket from his bed.

* * *

She was in trouble. Not in the traditional sense, but in a far worse sense. She woke on his couch, and it wasn’t difficult to guess who had put the blanket on her in the night. Worse, the blanket smelled like him. A soft, faintly heady and comforting scent. A scent she might have inhaled a little more deeply than necessary before she realized she was doing it. Oh, she was in _trouble._

Damn it, she wasn’t supposed to like him. Even if this relationship weren’t a sham, there were other reasons it would never work between them. It didn’t matter that she liked him, or even that he was being nice or civil, even friendly. It was for his own good that nothing happen.

She tossed the blanket aside and took a deep breath of air that didn’t smell like him. Only it _did_ smell at him. His entire apartment smelled like him. She couldn’t escape it.

“Morning,” Steve greeted. “You hungry? I’m making bacon and eggs. Toast. Pancakes. Some other stuff. Want any?”

She stretched and fought the stiffness in her limbs to stand up. “I should go, actually.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Oh. Okay.”

She nodded tersely and walked to the bathroom as fast as she could on her aching feet. Inside, she changed into the work clothes she’d left on the floor the night before. Jesus. Her hair was a mess. She hastily pulled it back into a ponytail. There. She almost looked presentable. Damn it. Not that she cared about her looks. Because she didn’t.

She should call this off before she got in any deeper. Maybe it would look bad, given that her wrinkled clothes and bird nest hair would suggest to everyone that she’d spent the night. And she had, technically, just not doing what everyone would assume. Oh, God.

They needed to break up. 

Steeling herself, she headed back to the kitchen, her dress over her arm. “So!” She pasted on a smile and tried to sound as pleasant as possible. “We should probably break up now, right? Make it sound like we had a huge fight over... I don’t know, morning breath? Or me hogging the covers. That happens sometimes. I’m a cover hogger. We should break up.”

He blinked. Once, twice, then again. “Won’t that look suspicious?”

She shrugged. “Natasha’s going to think it’s suspicious no matter when we do it, right?” _Ugh._ Bad phrasing. “When we break up, I mean. So why not now? Besides, I’ve got a mission coming up, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone. This might be the best time. I mean, if I die, you’re going to be That Guy With The Dead Girlfriend. You won’t be able to date anybody for months, at least.”

“Yeah, because I’m usually such a serial dater.” His voice was dry. He leaned against the counter. “How about we break up after you get back? We can say that we realized we were happier apart.” He looked up at her and shrugged. “You don’t break up with someone right before shipping out. It’s not polite.”

Not polite.

Sweet Jesus tapdancing on a salt lake. 

She inhaled. “Okay. After the mission. Sounds good.” Better late than never. Better sooner rather than later. She’d rather do it now, but if this was the best she could get, she’d go with it. Not because she thought it was the best course of action, but because she desperately needed to get out of his apartment before she did something she’d regret.

“Of course, this means you can’t die on the mission,” he pointed out. “Or I’ll be stuck in sub-widowhood for a couple years.”

“Months,” Sharon corrected.

Steve shrugged. “I’ll wait and see what your pension is like before I decide which.”

She stared at him. A slow grin at her lips. Damn it. That had been... amusing. Kind of. She hated that he felt comfortable enough with her to make jokes. “I should go. I’ll just- I’ll just go. I should go pick up my mail.”

Oh, _crap._ ‘I should go pick up my mail?’ What kind of excuse was that?

His lips twitched, but he moved the pan from the oven nonetheless. “Let me walk you out.”

“Not necessary,” she said quickly. Not quick enough, though, since he was already at the door. She sighed and grabbed her heels and overnight bag - more literally named than she had expected, it turned out - and prepared herself to sweep past.

“I still think about the life I could have had,” he said quietly when she drew even with him.

She turned to stare at him. What? Vaguely, she started remembering bits of pieces of their conversation the night before. “That’s normal,” she assured him. “It’s normal to think about the path not taken.”

He lowered his eyes. “It’s just- Sometimes, I don’t think I’ve been given a new life at all. Just the same old job.”

She bit her lip to keep from reaching out to him.

“Like I’m a shell or something.” He scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know. That sounds stupid. Melodramatic. But my life- It still feels like it ended that day I took down the Valkyrie.”

Her fingers flexed as if to rest on his arm or take his hand, but she held herself back. “Steve. Trust me. That’s normal. I’m not saying you’re going to get over it overnight. But you’ll find good things again. Things worth living for. And it’ll start to feel like a life again. And one day you’ll realize that as much as you miss what might have been, you’re glad for how things turned out, because good things can still happen.”

“You sound like you know.”

She paused as she debated how much to tell. “My parents died in a car crash when I was a kid. An aunt ended up taking me in. I wasn’t exactly appreciative at first, but now... I would never have known her so well otherwise. So what happened was awful, but I got to live again because of her.” She wrinkled her nose. “And now I’m the one being melodramatic.”

He grinned weakly, and the pain and hope and fear in his eyes made her heart ache.

“I should go,” she said quickly.

He cleared his throat and opened the door. “Text me so I know you’re alive.” She must have looked at him oddly, because he looked oddly pleased, smug, and petulant at the same time. “I can text.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Of course you can.”

She darted past him and didn’t stop until she was in the elevator.

Even then, she wasn’t safe. Just as she started to relax, Natasha showed up in the lobby. “Sharon? Looks like you spent the night. Want to tell me about it?”

“Fuck off, Romanoff.” With a gesture to accompany the words, and without looking back, Sharon charged out of the lobby and to her car. 

Damn it. They should have broken up.


	7. Long Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon goes on a series of missions for the CIA; Steve goes on his missions with the Avengers. They keep in touch, mostly so Steve knows she's still alive. But if they aren't careful, they might just start liking each other...

You’re supposed to text me to let me know you’re alive.

Sharon stared at the text with uncomprehending eyes. It took her longer than it should have to realize who was texting her and why. She rubbed her eyes, though with the mud on her fingers, it accomplished little. 

Steve was texting her. Right. She’d given him the number for the phone she was using on the mission.

How long ago had that been?

She shifted, the wall of the foxhole crumbling wherever she touched it. She was tired and probably about to die at any second, either by enemy agents or the foxhole caving in on her.

And it was the most fun she’d had in a long, long time.

Spying wasn’t how it used to be, she mused. It used to be an agent could brawl with an enemy to the death. Now, people were captured, and the gears of diplomacy moved ever so slowly to free them.

Sharon had always preferred the old school method herself. And now she was being hunted down by enemy agents, more likely to be killed than jailed.

If only every mission could be like this.

She should probably answer the text first, though.

Alive. Don’t charge my phone much.

The answer came minutes later, just as Sharon was starting to drift off to sleep again.

Charge your phone. Keep me posted.

Asshole.

Kind of a cute asshole at times, but still an asshole.

Instead of answering the text, she fell asleep.

* * *

Days later, she sent him another text. Alive. Don’t worry.

The reply was simple, and yet it still made her want to bang her head against the walls of her new temporary living space. 

Noted.

* * *

Sharon loved her job. She didn’t say that much at the CIA, but it was true. She loved doing what she felt she was meant to do.

“You violated mission parameters, Carter.”

“Fire me,” she said cheerfully.

“Pardon?” A vein in Maddox’s jaw started to thump.

“Fire me,” she repeated. She was still high on adrenaline.

“Your mission was to retrieve the power source, Agent Carter.”

She nodded. “And I did that. I also found that the man who owned the power source was buying children from terrorist cells. That money was paying for weapons used against American soldiers. I made a call.”

The vein in his jaw started doing a jig. “It wasn’t your call to make.”

“So fire me. The children are with organizations that can get them back to their families, that branch of the cell has been obliterated, and I got you the power source and the name of the group that sold it to him. My mission was a success and then some, despite how you likely intended me to die in the field.” She stood and braced herself against the table. “So give me a new suicide mission and hope it takes, or fire me. I’ll be filing paperwork while you make your decision.”

At 4:58, another folder hit her desk.

* * *

She texted Steve from the airport. Mission success. They gave me another one.

She didn’t hear anything back until she’d set up her equipment in her new safe house. Congratulations on the new mission. Keep me updated.

A couple hours later, she got another text. We’re doing rescue operations in Japan.

She frowned at the text. He’d actually told her what he was doing instead of telling her to keep in touch. After several seconds, she checked her surveillance equipment and then gave him a call. It only occurred to her when he picked up that she hadn’t planned on anything to say. “Hey. Japan, huh?”

“Yeah.” His voice was tired. “They had an earthquake.”

Sharon reviewed the situation mentally and cursed. There was no way there hadn’t been loss of life. No wonder he sounded tired. “How long ago? I haven’t looked at a news source in days.”

There was a brief pause. “Four days.”

She rested her head against the wall. Four days. Long enough that they would start finding more bodies than living people. Long enough for thirst and injuries to start overwhelming people who hadn’t been found yet. At least she understood why he’d felt like sharing now. Not everyone realized how sensitive he was, and he tended to pretend to be stronger than he was for the sake of the team. “How long are you there?”

“As long as they need us.” 

She frowned. “You holding up okay?”

This time, the pause was longer. “I knew what I was getting into.”

She’d take that as a no, then. “How many people have you found so far?”

“Not enough.”

“How many?”

“Eight-six alive, four hundred sixty-three dead.”

Jesus. She closed her eyes. It must have been a huge earthquake, maybe in the more remote areas where the towns were only accessible via one road or a walking path and help couldn’t get there quickly enough. Maybe in one of the more highly populated areas. Either way, it was going to be brutal, and she couldn’t tell him that everything was going to be okay. “That’s eighty-six people who are going to have a chance at rebuilding their lives because of you, Steve.”

“Yeah.” His voice was quiet. He didn’t believe her.

“Eighty-six people are going to have friends and families. Eighty-six people are going to eat and drink and sleep and cry and laugh because of you.” She paused as she cast about for something else to say. “Those people are going to remember that you helped them when they needed it most and they’re going to help others when they need help. I know things aren’t turning out as well as you’d like, but without you, would those eighty-six people have survived? You did good today, Steve.”

Silence.

She bit her lip and waited, and still nothing.

“Steve?”

“I’m here.” She couldn’t tell if it was the phone or if his voice was hoarser, but his voice sounded odd. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was- But no. He’d never trust her enough to get that emotional around her. They weren’t even friends. They were just pretending to date to get Natasha off their backs. He had only called her because everyone else relied on him for strength that he didn’t think he had just then, and he didn’t care what she thought. That was all. “Thanks. That helps.”

“What I’m here for, right? Fury asked me to look after you, and that’s a multi-front operation, pal.”

He huffed a breath that rattled in her ear. “Where are you, anyway? Can you say?”

Sharon shrugged even though he couldn’t see it. Habit, she supposed. “I can tell you I’m holed up in a rat-infested motel that smells like the rats’ ancestors here ate the local food and then died. The shower has brown water coming out of it. I’ve gone nose-blind to whatever smell is coming from the bed. So I have no idea if it’s cleared out or if I smell like it, too.”

There was another stretch of silence. “Wow,” he said at last. “I thought you spies were supposed to have sophisticated, classy adventures. Like James Bond.”

“I have classy adventures!” she exclaimed defensively. “If by classy, you mean a class in middle school where I’ll totally cut off someone’s pigtails and run away so I don’t get detention.”

He huffed again, but it sounded more like a chuckle this time. She wasn’t surprised he hadn’t laughed; it hadn’t been that funny. She was clutching at straws to get him to cheer up. “Are you doing good, though?”

She was the one to fall silent this time. She understood what he was saying. “Yeah. Last time around I helped end a human trafficking ring. Don’t know what I’ll do this time around.”

“Save the world, probably.” She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. She guessed he was.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, spandex.”

“It’s actually body armor. I know people keep saying it’s spandex, but it’s not. It’s a high-polymer-”

“Steve?”

He paused. “You want me to shut up, don’t you.”

She grinned. “Yeah. And while you’re doing that, why don’t you get some sleep? So you can try and get your numbers up to eighty-seven tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” His voice was somber again.

“And Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Remember. Everyone you find who didn’t make it? That’s somebody who can be buried properly and visited by family and friends. The people who make it won’t have to wonder what happened. It isn’t the ideal ending, I know, but if they know what happened, they can start to heal. They don’t have to wait however long it takes.” Like the people who had searched for Steve to no avail for so long, who had spent so long waiting for any information at all.

The quiet stretched once again. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. “Thanks. You’d better get some sleep, too. For whatever it is you’re doing.”

“It’s mid-afternoon here, act-” But it was too late. He’d already hung up.

She sighed and checked her surveillance equipment again, then started recataloguing what little equipment she’d brought with her. Anything to get her mind off Steve. Because whenever she thought of him, her gut twisted and her heart beat a little too hard. They’d have to break up. She knew they’d have to break up. And soon. But as much as she understood the necessity, she also knew that it was going to hurt more than she yet realized.


	8. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sharon grow closer... until they don't.

It became a regular occurrence for one of them to text the other if they were available, and if so, to call to talk. There were several times when they would lapse into silence as they reviewed files and notes on different continents, all while their phone screens ticked off seconds and then went dark from inactivity.

Steve found himself liking it. There was something companionable about the silence, and he couldn’t imagine doing this with any of the Avengers. Natasha would tease him, Thor would start telling tales of past battles. Sam would, possibly with good reason, suggest some therapists for him to visit. But with Sharon, he could sit comfortably and listen to the background noise of her surroundings, or the sound of her typing on her computer, and sometimes she thought of things he could use, like when she’d suggested Wanda study jiu jitsu, especially since Wanda might be intrigued by the idea of using other people’s energy and power against them.

He liked to think he helped her out, too, like when he talked about old spy and soldier tricks from the war that her targets might be using or that she could use herself. 

He knew they were going to break up, and part of him was starting to wonder if that was really the best move. But maybe they could still be friends after. It wasn’t as if they weren’t enjoying each other’s company knowing full well they were going to break up soon. Would things really have to change that much after they broke up?

Sometimes, he found himself wondering if he was simply lonely for a friend or if there might be something more to this weird little relationship with Sharon. He tried to silence those thoughts as soon as they began, though. She seemed intent on breaking up, and it wasn’t as if he was going to insist on staying together when she didn’t want to be with him.

And then the call came from Peggy’s assisted living facility.

* * *

Sharon’s phone rang. It was the distinctive tone that haunted her waking moments and nightmares both, the tone that made her answer her phone whether she was under fire or half-dead with sleep. She dove for it.

The conversation was brief. And then she packed everything with SHIELD-trained efficiency and only remembered when her hand was on the doorknob that she had to complete her mission. 

It took an hour, still too long for her satisfaction, but she was finally on a plane and headed home.

* * *

“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t sign the papers for any procedure. It’s a legal matter. Only her family can do that.”

Steve’s temper didn’t often get the better of him, but this was Peggy. Peggy, who needed help, and he couldn’t help her. Only family could give the doctors permission, and he’d never seen family here. He knew Peggy had children and grandchildren, but he’d never heard of them visiting, never seen the names of any Carters on the visitor sign-in sheets. 

“I’m with the Avengers,” he said. He hated using his position, but for Peggy, he would.

The doctor glared at him. “Yes, sir. We’re all well aware of who you are.” Her eyes focused on someone behind Steve, and she sighed in relief. “Finally.” She held out her clipboard. “Ms. Carter. I need you to sign these.”

A blonde head appeared in the corner of Steve’s eye, and he could have sworn it was one he knew. The woman took the clipboard. “What is this for?” His eyes bored holes into the woman’s head. The voice was familiar, too. But there was no way in _hell_ it could be who he thought it was. No way in _hell_ that she would ever deceive him like this. Never like _this._

“The release forms for the funeral home. Normally, I wouldn’t insist, but her son has been difficult to track down.”

The woman went still for several seconds. Steve hoped he was imagining what he was seeing. And then the woman’s hand moved, her hand flying over the page as she signed her name. She handed the clipboard back to the doctor.

The doctor’s eyes skimmed over it, and she gave a nod. “Thank you. If we could have a word in my office?”

“Of course.” She began to follow the doctor, and Steve fell in behind her.

The doctor stopped. “You’re not needed for this, sir.”

“But-”

The doctor sighed. “I realize you and Director Carter were close, but this isn’t for you.”

The woman turned toward him, and Steve felt a chill went through him. He could hope he was wrong about her hair or her voice, but he wasn’t wrong about her face. His former neighbor. The woman who had spied on him. The woman he’d been _pretending to date._ The woman he’d thought was becoming a friend. “Don’t let her be alone,” she told him. “Please.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and forced himself to stand still as the two disappeared into the doctor’s office. Again. She’d deceived him again. And he’d fallen for it. _Again._

* * *

She took the seat across the bed from him and reached to set a careful hand against Peggy’s fingers. “Hey, Aunt Peggy.”

Peggy didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Steve wasn’t sure if it was the dementia or the morphine, but Peggy only stared at the wall, unseeing, her mouth open as she gasped for breath.

Steve held Peggy’s other hand, aware that it was colder but unwilling to think about it. The doctor had warned him that Peggy’s extremities would turn cold as her body shut down.

The room was silent save for Peggy’s breathing. They hadn’t even hooked her up to a heart monitor. Waste of equipment, he supposed. Why monitor a heart that they knew was giving out?

A couple times, the woman sitting across from him seemed like she was about to speak. She always closed her mouth again, though, and Steve made no move to fill the silence at all. He didn’t even look at her. As far as he was concerned, he could go his entire life without seeing her again.

It took almost a day. The doctor had predicted Peggy had twelve hours left, but in typical Peggy fashion, she battled on longer than anyone thought she would. There were hours where all the air seemed to leave her lungs and she would go deathly still, and he and the other in the room would lean forward in dreadful anticipation, only for Peggy to inhale again, a deep gasp with a horrible rattle in her chest, and they would lean away from each other. They only stayed close enough to stay close to Peggy. 

And then Peggy didn’t inhale. 

They waited. Waited longer.

At length, Steve stood.

She tried to stop him as he walked to the door. “Steve, I-”

He wheeled on her. “No,” he said, vehemently. “ _No._ Don’t speak to me again. _Ever._ ” He strode into the hall, not stopping until he was on his Harley. Sharon was a Carter. Sharon Carter, relative of Peggy Carter. 

He’d had the rug pulled out from under him before, had woken up in an unfamiliar era to find nearly everyone important to him had died. The modern age hadn’t stopped ripping his insides out since he’d woken up.

He peeled out of the parking lot. At least the day couldn’t get worse.


	9. Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon makes some discoveries of her own.

In other circumstances, Sharon might have run after him. But there was too much that had to be done. She wasn’t sure she could have caught up to him anyway, nor was she sure she should have tried. She’d known all along that she and Steve would break up. 

She just hadn’t imagined it would happen like this.

She had other things to see to, and she threw herself into the tasks at hand, gave them all the attention she had. Calls to family members and close friends had to be made, and Peggy’s body prepared for the funeral home. Fortunately, there had been a plan in place for Peggy’s passing. It had been part of SHIELD protocol for plans to be made when someone joined, and updated every five years or so. Peggy had gone over hers again shortly after she’d received the official diagnosis of dementia and reaffirmed that her plans were what she wanted. The only decision Sharon had to make on her own was what clothes to dress Peggy in for the funeral home.

The first call went to the phone number she’d committed to memory for this day. She didn’t know who would answer, only that someone would. Hydra might destroy many things, but she knew that someone, somewhere, would be assigned to monitor the line. She had to believe that.

The ringing stopped, and Sharon didn’t wait. “This is Sharon Carter, formerly Agent 13 of SHIELD. Director Margaret Carter is dead.” She bit her lip. It was the first time she’d said the words, and that somehow made the hours by Peggy’s bedside more real. It made Peggy’s passing real, and it finally sank in that she would never be able to talk with Peggy again, that she could never hope for Peggy’s mind to clear long enough to recognize her.

Nothing but silence answered her, and Sharon began to panic that perhaps no one was on the other end after all, that she’d have to do all of this on her own. How could she insure Peggy got the funeral she’d wanted and deserved when she had only a vague familial tie and the sullied reputation of SHIELD? 

But then there was a faint breath, and a deep voice said, “Noted. Sorry for your loss, Carter.” They line went dead, and Sharon lowered the phone to her side. That had sounded alarmingly like Nick Fury.

She could follow up on that later. For now, she had other calls to make.

* * *

Hours later, her uncles, aunts, and cousins were still being impossible, and Sharon had almost given up. She told herself she hadn’t, and that slamming the phone against the counter several times before she calmed down enough to hit the off button instead was just her version of taking a break. 

She hoped she hadn’t broken her phone. She hadn’t talked to Steve since- 

On second thought, maybe she could use her phone for target practice and it wouldn’t make any difference.

There was a knock at her door when she was halfway through her microwaved dinner, and she briefly checked through the peephole before opening the door. 

Natasha stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. She had a bottle of red wine under one arm, a bottle of vodka under the other. “I heard about your aunt. You okay?”

Sharon scowled. “Come on in. And peachy, thanks. Can I help you with something?”

Natasha looked over Sharon’s shoulder to the half-eaten plastic dish of mac & cheese and an almost empty bottle of wine. “I was thinking I could spend the night. You know. Girls’ night.”

Sharon glared at her. She might have finished off the few beers she’d left in her fridge before starting on the wine, but she wasn’t drunk enough to think she could make Natasha leave if Natasha didn’t want to do so. She moved away from the door. “Sure. I’m great for company tonight. Peggy died, Nick’s alive but no one told me, and Steve dumped me.” She glared at her. “Why did you even try to set us up in the first place?” she demanded, a hint of a whine in her voice. She turned away and clumsily tried to clean up the kitchen.

“At first?” Natasha moved to clean up as well, and Sharon supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that Natasha knew where everything went. “I just wanted to mess with the two of you.”

Sharon blinked at her in disbelief.

Natasha shrugged. “You’re both blonde and disgustingly idealistic and honorable. I had a list of puns I was working on. Didn’t start buying fireworks until you showed up at Stark’s, though.”

Sharon groaned and rubbed her temples. 

“I actually stopped trying to set you up after the Triskellion fell, after he got so involved in the search for Bucky. You know, except for teasing you both.” She grinned a little. “Hard habits. And you’d both get so upset it was hard to resist.”

“I really fucking hate you right now,” Sharon muttered.

Natasha wasn’t bothered in the slightest. She didn’t seem bothered, but Natasha softened. “I _did_ think you two could be good together, but after SHIELD fell, I thought maybe you two could just use a friend. You both put a lot of faith in SHIELD because of Peggy. I thought you two coud find some common ground and, I don’t know. Talk. But by that time, you two were being completely contrary about it, so I had to trick you into hanging out...” She poured herself what was left of the wine and took a generous sip. “I was surprised when you two actually started dating.”

Sharon gaped at her. “Are you serious?”

Natasha sipped her wine again. “What?”

“Are you _serious?_ ”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow.

“We only pretended to date so you’d stop trying to set us up!”

Natasha blinked at her. Her lips slowly spread into a smile. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!”

Natasha chuckled. “You two are such dorks. Blonde, idealistic, weird dorks.”

Sharon moaned, but even she could see the ridiculousness of it all. After several seconds, a small laugh escaped, one that grew and was soon joined by Natasha’s.

The night ended with the two of them on the couch, watching _Die Hard_ together, and Natasha eventually tucking Sharon in as she slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there wasn't any Steve in this chapter. He'll be back in the next one!


	10. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Sharon, a funeral, and confrontations.

When Steve had first come out of the ice, he had insisted on learning what had happened to the people he’d cared about. One by one, he’d read that nearly all of them were deceased, and the few that were alive could only stare at him and make gurgling sounds or couldn’t remember him at all. He’d visited each one that he could, though, dutifully paying his respects no matter how it stabbed him in the gut.

One by one, they died. The people he’d grown up with, trusted as he had few others, the people with whom he’d lost what little boyhood innocence the Depression hadn’t stolen away, passed where he couldn’t yet go. Some nights, he wasn’t sure the serum would ever let him follow them.

Those nights, and others, he’d rise from bed and sit at the table in his kitchen, and he’d write. Letter after letter, talking about his day or his fears or his hopes and disappointments. Letters to friends who would never read them, friends he would never see again. Letters that he burned at the first opportunity because he never wanted anyone else to read them. He even wrote letters to Peggy, full of the things he didn’t dare tell her in person.

It made the relationship with Sharon worse. With Sharon, it had been hours on the phone, sometimes without saying anything, or texting her from missions. Somehow, despite their determination to end things, they had spoken to each other daily.The time he would have spent sitting at his table writing letters that would never be read had been overtaken by time spent with a living, breathing person who could talk back. Who could make him feel less alone simply by _being_ there.

And now that he no longer wanted to speak with her, he kept reaching for his phone to tell her about an idea he’d had for one of his missions, or it occurred to him that he hadn’t heard from her and he needed to make sure she was safe.

Then he would remember, and a small part of him would hate himself for having fallen for her again.

* * *

Steve jumped when Natasha turned into the hallway and cut him off.

“You need to be a pallbearer. Sam, too. Fury would, but he’s still pretending to be dead, so he’s out.”

Steve’s shock was overwhelmed by his anger. “And whose decision was it that I be pallbearer?” Not that he wouldn’t do it. He would do anything for Peggy. But he didn’t like that the decision had been made for him, and he was fairly certain he knew who had made it for him. What, was she too scared to talk to him directly? Scared she might lie to him again? Or that he’d find out something _else_ she hadn’t told him?

“Sharon’s. Peggy made a list of people she wanted to carry her, but most of them are dead. Sharon thought, given how important you were to Peggy and vice versa, that you might do it. And Sam might do it because he knows you.”

Steve’s frown deepened. “Why is Sharon making that decision? I know for a fact that Peggy has kids. And grandkids.”

Natasha looked at him as if he were an idiot. After several seconds, she shook her head. She started to walk away, then paused. “Oh. And Sharon told me how you two pretended to date because you thought I was trying to set you up and were afraid of me.”

Steve eyed her warily.

“It just thought it was funny, is all.” She shrugged. “I only tried to get you two together because I thought you could both use a friend.”

He crossed his arms. His fight might be with Sharon, but Peggy and the plans to honor Peggy, shouldn’t suffer because of how much Sharon had upset him. “Tell her I’ll do it.”

Natasha nodded.

She was almost to the door again when Steve asked, “Did you know? That she’s related to Peggy?”

She stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah. It wasn’t easy. Sharon didn’t want people to know because she didn’t want to be compared to SHIELD’s co-founder all the time, and she didn’t want people treating her differently. I’d known her a while before I found out. Hacked her file to find out when her birthday was and ended up reading the whole thing.” Of course she had. “There was a note for Level 9’s and above that she was related to the Director.”

“And you still tried to set us up,” Steve said, his voice flat.

Natasha frowned at him. “She’s nice. I trust her, and I don’t trust a lot of people. She’s idealistic but not naive. She puts other people before herself. Gets back up when she’s knocked down. I thought you two might be good for each other.”

“She’s Peggy’s granddaughter, Nat.” Or niece. Either way.

“Great-niece, actually.” There was an edge to Natasha’s voice. “They’re not the same woman, Steve. They’re not interchangeable.”

Steve pressed his lips together. This time, he let Natasha leave.

* * *

The weather wasn’t right for a funeral. Steve had woken up that morning expecting the skies themselves to be crying, and instead, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, parents were even taking their children to the park as he set out for the church.

It was the sort of day that Peggy would have loved, and she wasn’t here to see it.

The church was crowded, and he and Sam stayed close together as they worked their way toward the front. As pallbearers, they had been given reserved seating along with the family and several diplomats. His eyes sought her out even as he fought not to look at her, and she briefly met his eyes before quickly looking away.

She looked tired, and again he had to fight the urge to text her and make sure she was okay. But he didn’t, and the ceremony continued. 

His eyes kept straying toward her. It was difficult not to; she was often the one who would nod to someone when it was their time to go, and though the movement was slight, it kept catching his attention.

Why weren’t Peggy’s children doing what she was doing?

The time for him and Sam to carry the casket came, and she briefly looked at him before she nodded to Sam. They moved into position. Steve had thought the walk down the aisle would take forever, but they seemed to be done in seconds, and then they shuffled into a car with the family to drive to the cemetery. He noticed she wasn’t in the car and suspected it wasn’t a coincidence. He forced himself to join Sam in making polite chit-chat with the others in the car and wished he could be on his bike instead.

The ceremony at the cemetery was even briefer, and Steve realized that none of Peggy’s children, nor her grandchildren, had spoken through the entirety of the day. They looked like this was the last place they wanted to be, an obligation rather than an honor.

Again, it fell to her to do the bulk of the work, directing people and nodding cues to people. At one point, she stiffened, but quickly returned to task and kept things moving.

He didn’t even realize he’d made a decision until her family had left for their cars and he moved to stand in front of her. “Can we talk?” he said, his tone uncertain. Now that they were down to it, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. “I don’t feel right leaving things how we did,” he said at last.

She stared at him. For a second, it seemed like her attention was elsewhere, but then she nodded. “There’s a coffeeshop next to the church. I have some things to finish up, but I can be there in half an hour?”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

“I wasn’t sure you saw me.”

Sharon glared at Fury. Only her years of training kept her from stabbing a finger at him. “I thought you were dead, Nick!”

“You were meant to. Everyone was.”

She bit her lip. “Because you couldn’t trust us.” Couldn’t trust _her,_ more like. All that she had dedicated her life to, all that she had done, without question, and it meant he couldn’t even trust her enough to tell her he’d survived.

In his defense, he looked mournful and contrite. But then, he’d had more years of training at controlling his features than she had. “I had to keep the circle small.”

She glowered at him, and he lifted his hands in mock-surrender. “Maddox at the CIA is an associate of mine.”

She gaped at him.

“Good work on that first mission. Bit sloppy with that last one.” There was a hint of a smile, as if he understood why it had been a rush job. “Mission complete, though. That’s what matters.”

“The mission is all that counts,” she told him. It was what SHIELD was about, though rarely spelled out so concisely. 

“Cheerful way of looking at it.” He looked toward the cars that were pulling away. “I don’t have long here. Just wanted to pay my respects. I’ll be in touch, Carter.”

* * *

Her head was still spinning when she walked into the coffee shop. Years before, when she’d visited the country as a child, this had been a tea shop with pepto-bismol pink wallpaper. Now, it was indistinguishable from a Starbucks.

Steve was easy to spot. He wasn’t trying to hide, and she wondered if he was so upset by Peggy’s passing that it hadn’t even occurred to him. She slid into the seat across from him. “Hey.”

He looked up at her. He was certainly wary, but for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of hate, too.

Her eyes dropped to the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet.

She didn’t know if it was the words or her tone or maybe just the sound of her voice, but his mask fell, and for a moment the heartbreak he must have hidden all day long finally showed through. “You made me betray her.” His voice broke in the middle, and he cleared his throat. “You knew that whole time how I felt about her. She was your great-aunt. I never would have-” He looked out the window. “If I’d known.”

She stared at him, her eyes stinging. She’d seen him upset before, but never like this. Never blaming her for it. She leaned back and played with one of the sugar packets. “I never meant to lie to you. I _didn’t_ lie to you.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.”

She glared at him. “I’m not in the habit of introducing myself as Sharon Carter, great-niece of SHIELD Director Margaret Carter, better known as Peggy. You already knew my name. I didn’t realize you didn’t know my full name. Never had reason to think you didn’t know, not after the files leaked.” As for being related to Peggy... She had always thought they would break up before it could matter.

“Don’t you think I would have mentioned it if I had? What, were you ashamed of her or something?”

She gripped the table to keep herself from slapping him. Her head spun. “Don’t. You. _Dare._ ” She pushed herself to her feet, her movements clumsy. “Don’t you dare say that.” She pushed herself to get the words out, and then the words came spilling out before she could stop them. “About me. About her. She- You and I were pretending to like each other. And I’m sorry I didn’t break things off sooner. I tried. But- I’m sorry I liked you. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to break up with you so many times because I _knew._ I knew you’d always compare me to her, that you’d never look at me the same as you did when I was Kate.” She swallowed. “That you’d look at me the way you are now. But you know what? Fuck you, Steve. You don’t get to treat me like crap because you’re mad at me.” She lifted her chin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’m going to go-” have a cry, take a bubble bath, and probably eat a whole pizza and drink a bottle of wine alone with her Netflix queue “-do some work.”

She was gratified to see that he appeared flabbergasted. She gave him a stern nod, and he jumped upward, stopping himself before he upended the table.

“Wait. Why- Why did you put together the funeral instead of her kids?”

She studied him, thought of all the phone calls she’d made, the tempers she’d navigated, the days she’d spent wishing she could go on another suicide mission to get away from her family. Did Steve really want to know that? No, and even if he did, even though she wanted to lash out at him, she couldn’t hurt him by telling him that Peggy’s children and grandchildren had been estranged from Peggy for decades, that too few of them respected her even the slightest bit.

She took a slow, deep breath. “Peggy spent a lot of time at work when her children were young,” she said carefully. “They grew up without her. Moved away, had kids that she didn’t get to see much. I don’t think they ever really appreciated what she did, just saw a job that their mom considered more important them. And I think Peggy encouraged that, in a way. She wanted to protect them from the world. Her world.” She glanced out of the window, to the street that Peggy had walked so many times as a young woman, and chose her words carefully. “My parents were the only ones to stick around. They thought her retirement would make her a cheap babysitter.” She shrugged. “She got really pissed off about the fairy tales in the books I wanted her to read to me,” she said, smiling even though she felt like crying again. “She started telling me different versions of them, where all of the princesses knew military strategy and could make weapons out of household times. Then she started telling me about princesses and ladies and even common girls soldiers and spies. And when I realized she was telling me about herself? She was my hero. I glued myself to her after that. Loved her more than my own parents. And I think she, I don’t know. Saw a chance to help raise a kid in me? She never got to do that with her own kids. I think she saw me as a second chance.”

She smiled at Steve, though there was no mirth in it. “With the result that my family tends to hate me for having what they never did, and for being closer to Peggy than they were. So if you want to talk about me with them, I’m sure they’ll be happy to bitch with you.” Her smile faltered. “I really am sorry that I hurt you, Steve. Please thank Sam for me. It means a lot that he did so much when he didn’t really know Peggy, and I’m sure she would have appreciated it.”

She left before he could say anything else, wanting nothing more than to reach the tube before she broke down sobbing. She didn’t look behind her; she didn’t want to see if he was still looking after her. Part of her thought she wouldn’t deserve it if he were, and yet the thought that he might not be watching her as she stormed off left a bitter taste in her mouth and a weight in her chest.

She needed a mission. Sleep, and a mission. And if the CIA wasn’t going to give her one, she’d find one on her own.


	11. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon hasn't given up on helping Steve. As grateful as he is, Sharon can only hope that he'll help her when she needs it...

Weeks passed. It was almost enough time to dull the pain, but Steve’s memory was too good, and every time he remembered, the pain returned. He never thought he’d truly forget. He replayed the conversation over and over in his mind, replayed so many of their conversations in his mind, and the more he looked for fault in her actions, the more he wondered if he’d attributed more to her than she deserved. He’d never asked for her last name. He’d never dug up her files. It had never mattered to him.

And that raised the question of whether it mattered now. Of course it did. It had to. She had known Peggy, was related to Peggy, and that mattered. He had loved Peggy. She had loved him. And yes, it had come to nothing more than a kiss, but he hadn’t loved her any less.

Besides, what else wasn’t she telling him? How many other omissions had there been?

Natasha took time off. She didn’t give details, but he suspected she was doing something with Sharon. When she was at the base, he would pass by her when she was on the phone to overhear her talking about undercover missions and girls’ nights. Offers to bring Wanda along. Hadn’t she failed her dance class at the academy? Natasha teased.

He didn’t allow himself to ask. 

More weeks passed, more weeks where Natasha and Wanda would go on vacations together, more weeks of wondering how much Sharon’s interactions with him had been fake. How much of it had been an act?

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if any of it had been fake. She’d been right in saying she’d been the one to suggest breaking up. Steve had been the one who had insisted on staying together. 

He guessed he should have broken up when she’d asked. 

Natasha whistled to get his attention. He raised his head only for her to slap a folder against his chest. He grabbed at it automatically. Without a word, she walked away.

He stared after her, then began browsing through the folder. Inside were papers and pictures. He would recognize the person in the pictures anywhere; he’d been hunting him for years now. And some of the notes were in handwriting that he recognized.

* * *

Her phone chimed with a text after four in the morning. Her hand slapped the table in search of her cell, and she forced herself to stare at the screen until the blurs formed letters. The undercover assignment in Moldovan bar the night before had exhausted her.

You’re still trying to find Bucky?

How the hell had Fury found out about _that?_ She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and was halfway through typing an asshole reply when she paused and checked the sender. 

The thought of _him_ texting her was even weirder than Fury texting her.

She didn’t know what the right answer was. And she was too tired to trust herself to think of one. Talking to him was more of a minefield than ever.

Slowly, she locked her phone and let her head fall back onto the pillows.

* * *

Steve watched the ellipses appear as she typed. Watched them until he gave up and started reorganizing his records. Watched them as he checked his phone while he brushed his teeth. Watched them before he went to bed.

He woke the next morning to his phone buzzing. 

If you don’t want me to, I won’t.

* * *

She kept an eye on her phone as she moved to get ready. The CIA had sprung for a one-room apartment. She suspected it was because this was the only room available in the building with a bathroom attached. God, she missed her apartment back home. Her phone beeped, and she jumped for it with her toothbrush still in her mouth.

No, I appreciate it.

She stared at it. Was that it? Not that she had expected gratitude; she hadn’t allowed herself to expect anything when she’d given Natasha everything she’d gathered. She had told herself that he likely wouldn’t say or do anything, and she had resolved to keep feeding him intel anyway.

But if these were the last words he ever texted her, part of her would be disappointed. It was nicer than their last parting, sure, but still... She supposed she _had_ hoped for more.

Toothpaste started to drip down her chin, and she grunted in frustration and ran toward the bathroom, only to make another sound of frustration as her phone chimed again.

After rinsing out her mouth, Sharon returned to her phone.

Why are you still helping me?

She sat on the edge of her bed, tapping the side of the phone with a finger as she thought. Decided, she sent off a reply. You’re still worth helping.

* * *

He read the reply, then read it a couple more times. On the one hand, it was nice that she thought he was still worth helping, on the other, he’d come to expect that attitude and those words more in regards to Captain America than Steve Rogers. 

Before he could ask if she was helping him or Cap, another text came through.

And you deserve to see your best friend again. He deserves to see you, too. And someone’s got to protect your butt when I’m not around.

He stared at the screen for several seconds and huffed a quiet sigh. So she’d been talking to Steve after all. Did I ever thank you for watching my six?

My job, Rogers. Glad to do it. A second later, another. Somebody had to. Even Natasha needs sleep.

He read the message a couple more times, tried to think of a reply, and finally got up to do some dishes. If he didn’t know better, he’d start to like her again. But he knew better. She hadn’t told him things she knew would matter to him.

The problem was, he could almost see why she had done the things she had. She hadn’t led him on. She’d been... a friend. And had been careful to only be that. 

And he’d been an asshole to her. Multiple times.

I didn’t tell you before. Sorry for your loss.

The reply took long enough that he was almost afraid he’d messed up somehow.

I’m sorry for yours, too.

He sat down, his eyes on the screen, unsure how to take it. Some of the Avengers had told him the same, but none of them had seemed to appreciate what Peggy had meant to him. Sharon, though... Surely she knew how much Peggy had mattered to him. 

You on a mission?

* * *

Sharon exhaled as he texted back. And he’d changed the subject, huh. She hoped she hadn’t upset him somehow. Yeah. You?

The reply came faster this time. Just training unless something happens. Who’s watching your six?

Ha. That was kind of sweet, asking if she had backup. Nobody. It’s fine.

The next reply took longer. Do me a favor and text me at least once a day so I know you’re okay, okay? And maybe we can talk when you get back in.

Oh, _shit._ Talk? Why talk? What did they have to talk about? Were they going to talk about things she hadn’t mentioned again? Or Peggy? She wouldn’t actually mind talking about Peggy with him, actually. He was probably the only person she knew who appreciated Peggy as much as she did. 

But that wasn’t going to happen if he wanted to dredge up more stuff.

And yet, she owed him, didn’t she? Sure thing. Happy to.

* * *

He doubted that very much, he thought to himself as he read over her text. Nonetheless, he sent off a response. I’ve got to go train, but I’ll catch you later.

It wasn’t a complete lie, but he also wasn’t sure what else to say to her without making things awkward again. Or more awkward, if he were being honest. He puttered around his apartment for half an hour, watched a sitcom on Netflix and sketched until it was time to go train the team. 

Shortly after dinner, he got another text. Survived the day. Text you again tomorrow.

He paused over his latest sketch. Glad you’re still alive. Good night.

* * *

She sent him another text the next morning to let her know she’d survived the night and received a similar text in response. He was glad she’d survived. Good morning. It wasn’t the most encouraging text, but it was oddly comforting to know that someone was checking on her, that someone cared enough. Even if it was out of a sense of obligation.

Surveillance was long and slow, and as the afternoon wore on she sent him a text to ask if Wanda was doing all right. He answered that her fighting skills had improved, but if she had more advice, he’d take it. She suggested he teach her the Macarena, but he seemed to realize that she was teasing him and only wrote back Ha ha. No.

The day after, he was sent out on a mission, and she instructed him to send her updates. 

More time went by. She doubted either of them felt as comfortable texting as they had before, but she liked texting him and hoped he liked texting her, too. She’d never meant to hurt him, had always liked him. She didn’t expect him to like her - certainly didn’t expect it now, after everything - but as much as she told herself not to expect it, part of her couldn’t help but hope. 

When there was a knock at her door, she drew her gun and cautiously glanced outside. No one was in sight, but there was a folder on the floor. She picked it up and disappeared inside again, locking the door behind her.

The folder had ostensibly come from Maddox, but the method of delivery and the assignment inside had Fury’s fingerprints all over it. 

She took a deep breath and glanced at her phone. This was going to be bad. 

Delaying the inevitable, she wrote her report and packed her things. She erased as many traces that she’d ever been in the room as she could. She left her phone on the bedside table as long as she could.

She couldn’t put it off forever. She was on the way to the airport when she sent him a text from a burner phone she’d brought in her backup kit. It’s me. I got a new mission. Things are going to get bad. I can’t tell you everything. But I’m on your team. I need you to know that.

As much as she would have liked to hear his response, she couldn’t risk someone finding out that she was as close to him as she was. Or had been. Now more than ever it was vital that no one know.

She told herself that not knowing his answer didn’t matter to her. She ignored the ache in her chest and took the burner and her regular phone apart, crushing the chip and tossing them out the window piece by piece on the way to the airport. She wouldn’t be used to compromise him. Fury had tasked her with protecting him, and she would. Even if he couldn’t know.

* * *

Steve frowned at the text from the unfamiliar number. Sharon and more secrets.

And yet he still thought she meant it when she said she was on his team. Though he didn’t understand what that meant.

What CAN you tell me?

There was no response. He tried again throughout the day, to both numbers she’d used, but nothing. He was almost relieved when a call to arms came in.

He’d been wrong to think the mission wouldn’t be as bad as it was. He kept texting her, wanting some degree of the comfort their conversations had given him, but there was still no response. He was starting to worry. He told himself that she could look after herself, but he still worried.

And then, as the world fell down around him, he saw her again working for the government and taking the Avengers’ possessions into the government’s care. She looked at him as if she only vaguely knew him, and he did his best to play along. 

Part of him was just glad that she was safe, but as people he thought he could trust turned on him, as the line between right and wrong got murkier and murkier still, he was glad for the hope that he could trust her. He didn’t fully believe it, but part of him really did believe what she’d said. She was on his team.

What that might mean in the future, he didn’t know. But he was going to find out. One way or another.

* * *

More time passed. His world fell again. He started to wonder if this was just what his life had become.

And then he got a phone call from another unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

“Hey.” Sharon. He frowned. Something was wrong with her voice. She sounded nervous. “I... need a favor. A big one.”

He set his sketch aside and leaned forward. “What is it?” If she was in trouble, he’d find a way to help her. He respected her that much; sometimes, he even found himself liking her again. Sometimes, he thought he might like her too much. Not that it mattered right now. What mattered right now was that if she was in trouble, he’d help her.

She took a breath. “Okay. So... I’m going undercover. Probably for a couple months. And there’s a- a problem.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Fine. I just- Um.” There was a pause, and then a sigh. “Uh... So. Steve Rogers, light of my- Anyway. Will you make me the happiest undercover agent ever and pretend to be my husband?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... really feel like I need to apologize. I had NO IDEA. You guys have NO IDEA how much of NO IDEA I had. None of my fics have ever taken off like this. NONE OF THEM. Not a single other fic has ever gotten this sort of response, and... well. That ending. I put that ending there. Instead of them... you know. I put that one there.
> 
> And in truth, the fic would have been so much worse without you guys responding so much, because originally, it left off with the set-up for Civil War. One of my friends was like, "I just want to see one fake-dating fic where they DON'T end up together!" And I was like, "Okay, cool!" and... wrote that. Almost accidentally, because by the time I got to the final chapter, I couldn't get them to the point that they wanted to date each other yet. So I figured, "Okay, so this is how they get closer and establish a deeper bond and start to really trust each other and see the other for whom they are." And then I posted... what? Chapter 5? Chapter 3? Maybe chapter 1. And then realized that the ending might be something of a let-down. So... there's a fake-married sequel in the works that will happen after I see Civil War. So if there's anything you want to see, tell me! Because I feel like I owe you guys for this.
> 
> In the meantime - check out [Woman & Husband](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6369214) by the incomparable AvaRosier.
> 
> And from the bottom of my heart, please accept my thanks for reading this. (And please forgive me if it's a letdown.) The response really has blown me away, and I can't thank you enough!


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